Purim and Lion’s Roar: From Sinai to Shushan to Sovereignty

I am writing this from Israel. Since roughly 8:10 a.m. on Saturday morning, my family and I — including my grandchildren — have been moving in and out of our apartment’s mamad (safe room) as sirens sound and alerts flash across our phones.

This is not symbolic. For more than two and a half years, it has been part of our routine, largely because an Islamist tyranny that controls modern Persia has made clear its intention to destroy the world’s only Jewish state and confront what it calls the “decadent West.” 

Purim begins this Monday night. It is one of the most joyful holidays on the Jewish calendar. We commemorate events roughly 2,300 years ago, when the Jews of the Persian Empire thwarted the genocidal plan of Haman, a Persian vizier who sought to eliminate every Jew under ancient Persian rule.

The connection between then and now is not only rhetorical. It is theological.

The Jewish sages distinguish between two moments of covenant in Jewish history. At Mount Sinai, the Jewish people accepted the Torah amid overwhelming miracles and revelation. The Midrash (the rabbinic interpretive tradition) describes G-d holding the mountain over them “like a barrel.” The Talmud asks whether a covenant accepted under such circumstances can truly be considered voluntary.

Centuries later, in Shushan (the royal capital of the Persian Empire), the Jewish people accepted the covenant again — this time by choice. Megillat Esther (the Book of Esther) states, “The Jews upheld and accepted.” The Talmud understands this as a reaffirmation of Sinai, but now without thunder, seas splitting, plagues, or other spectacular and clearly divine miracles.

A royal Persian decree had set a date for annihilation. The Jews organized, fasted, lobbied the king, and prepared to defend themselves. According to our sages, it was at that moment that the covenant became fully embraced.

Sinai represents a covenant formed through revelation. Purim represents a covenant embraced through responsibility. That distinction matters.

The Book of Esther never mentions G-d explicitly. Unlike the Exodus narrative in the Passover Haggadah, which foregrounds Divine intervention, the Book of Esther reads like statecraft. A Persian official secures authority to eliminate a minority population. The decree circulates through an imperial bureaucracy. The Jewish community must decide how to respond.

“Gather the Jews,” Mordechai tells Esther. This is strategic, not mythical, language.

The Jews of Shushan survived because they took responsibility for their fate and they acted.

That pattern has a modern parallel.

For decades, the Iranian regime has funded, armed, and directed groups that target Israelis and Americans — whom it labels the “little Satan” and the “big Satan.” From Beirut to Buenos Aires, from sustained support for Hamas, the Houthis, and Hezbollah, Tehran has made proxy warfare against America and Israel a central instrument of state policy.

At the same time, Iran has advanced uranium enrichment and ballistic missile programs while engaging in negotiations designed to preserve those capabilities.

Days before Purim this year, Israel and the United States launched Operation Lion’s Roar, referred to in Washington as Epic Fury.

Iranian leadership assumed hesitation would prevail — that Western debate would slow or negate response, that deterrence would erode, and that proxy pressure, escalating threats, and negotiations designed to buy time would delay decisive action. They were wrong. Once again, Israel directly responded to threats against it.

History offers important perspective.

In 1948, roughly 650,000 Jews declared independence, while five Arab armies responded by trying to destroy it, including the British-trained and armed Arab Legion. The new state lacked air power, heavy artillery, and strategic depth. Many predicted its total annihilation. But Israel fought, won the war, and secured its independence.

In 1967, Gamal Abdel Nasser closed the Straits of Tiran, expelled UN forces from Sinai, and massed Soviet-armed Egyptian divisions along Israel’s border. Syrian artillery shelled the north. Jordanian forces controlled the high ground overlooking central Israel. At its narrowest point, the country measured nine miles across, with a population of barely 2.5 million facing neighboring states with a combined population of roughly 40 million.

Israelis feared catastrophe; thousands of graves were prepared. Six days later, Israel won the war and dramatically altered the map of the Middle East. 

In October 1973, on Yom Kippur, fewer than 200 Israeli tanks faced roughly 1,400 Syrian tanks on the Golan Heights. Reinforcements were hours away. A breakthrough would have exposed the Galilee and major civilian centers. The line held. Syrian armored forces suffered heavy losses.

In Sinai during that same war, Egypt’s surprise assault initially overwhelmed Israeli positions. Weeks later, Israeli forces crossed the Suez Canal, encircled Egypt’s Third Army, and advanced to within roughly sixty miles of Cairo.

In 2024, Israeli intelligence penetrated Hezbollah’s communications networks, disrupted command structures, and eliminated most of its senior leadership. Analysts who insisted Hezbollah was effectively unbeatable without catastrophic Israeli losses were forced to watch its capabilities steadily collapse.

None of these episodes suspended natural law. They reflected decisions made under tremendous pressure. And this is where the story of Purim becomes essential: when open miracles are absent, G-d works through human agency.

For centuries in exile, Jewish communities survived, often barely, without sovereignty. Waiting was frequently the only option. But Purim established a different principle: divine providence does not remove human agency; it operates through it.

Political Zionism functioned in that mode. No prophet guaranteed success. No spectacular miracle cleared its path. Zionist leaders organized congresses, negotiated with empires, purchased land, built institutions, and formed defense forces. They acted. 

Sovereignty eliminates the option of passivity. It requires decisions, risk, and accountability.

As I write this, the sirens keep sounding. As usual, Israelis will gather our children and move into reinforced spaces. We will follow Home Front Command instructions. When the all-clear comes, we will return to our lives as citizens of a sovereign Jewish state. 

Some clearly prefer the image of Jews as permanent victims — admired or to some degree tolerated because they are powerless. Purim rejects that model. When we gather, mobilize, defend, and take responsibility — whether on the Golan in 1973, in intelligence and military operations against Hezbollah, or in confronting nuclear and missile threats from Tehran — we act in the spirit clarified in Shushan.

Jewish survival in the modern age rests on agency — on the willingness to participate in history rather than endure it. May this be the last Purim in which a tyrannical regime in Persia threatens the Jewish people and the free world. Next year (and hopefully much sooner), we hope Iran will be free of its oppressors — and at peace with Israel.

Micha Danzig is an attorney, former IDF soldier, and former NYPD officer. He writes widely on Israel, Zionism, antisemitism, and Jewish history. He serves on the board of Herut North America.